


The Adjudicator

by TransAtlanticPhoneSex



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dalish, Depression, F/M, Friendship, Grief, I tag as requested, Implied statutory rape, Liberation, Magic, Platonic Relationships, Road Trips, Slavery, Toxic Relationships, anger issues, implied rape, shems gonna shem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21541108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TransAtlanticPhoneSex/pseuds/TransAtlanticPhoneSex
Summary: 9:50 Dragon, Inquisitor Lavellan was dying and that damned Fen'Harel was winning - it was only a matter of time now. She needed someone to see justice done, and perhaps a bit of vengeance too.  At this point anyone would do.~~~This story does NOT include the acts of rape or statutory rape, they are a part of a character's backstory and inform her character. I have tagged them as a warning, and tagged the chapter where they are mentioned. There are no gratuitous displays of sex, rape or gore in this story.UNDER SERIOUS REVISION.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor & Solas, Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan, Fenris/Female Hawke, Zevran Arainai/Female Warden
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	1. Prologue: The Last Days of Skyhold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BadGirlCC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadGirlCC/gifts).



**9:44 Dragon**

The Halls of Skyhold were emptying, the former Inquisitor Lavellan stood staring down as her army marched homeward - only a month ago she commanded the most powerful unaligned military force in Thedas. Now she was just some unimportant elf who had a crucial job to do. Stop her beloved by any means necessary. She breathed out and straightened her back, she still had people to rely on, that was something. That mattered.

  
  


“ _Athiya_ ,” Solas’ voice carried and she squeezed her eyes shut trying to shut him out, phantom arms snaked around her waist, “ _you need to sleep, Vhenan._ ”

  
  


“I will sleep when I am dead.” Athiya’s voice was flat as per usual; she had become direct and practical during her tenure as Inquisitor and it hadn’t changed. Though, before she had used informal language with him... or spoke in Elvhen, now she was careful to be distant and formal, use the King's Tongue and avoid familiarity.

  
  


“ _At this rate you will be… please, rest,_ ” his lips lingered about her ear. She could almost feel his kiss on the sharp tip but he wasn’t really there, she knew that - he was leading his people to tear down the Veil and end this world in a fiery cataclysm. His presence here was of her own paranoia and loneliness, regardless she felt heaviness come into her limbs. She was so tired of resisting and fighting. If only she could just sleep for a while, pretend everything was okay and that her beloved wasn’t trying to end the world.

  
  


But reality waited for no one, and it was rarely a comfort for her. “Begone, phantom, I have no need for you. I do no’t want you.” Her toxic green eyes opened as anger flared through her, how dare her mind play such cruel tricks on her. It was hers to command, to will over - not the other way around.

  
  


The sensation was gone and she slicked her hair back with a shuddering breath. More awake now than ever she descended down the steps from her bedroom and went to meet with her least favorite advisor, Cullen would be remaining for a week to coordinate the leaving forces but then he would be gone…. Just like everyone else.

  
  


And loath as she was to admit it she needed the company, even if his left something to be desired. Entering the war room she spoke to him, straight to business as usual, “Commander, progress report?”

  
  


The blonde glanced up and his lips quirked into a smile - she imagined he thought it charming. “Everything is going smoothly, Athiya,” so informal she withheld a grimace at his use of her name, “quicker than we expected. I imagine you’ll be off to Tevinter within the week. Before Josephine left she made arrangements for you to stay with Dorian - it should be comfortable.”

  
  


“Tevinter will never be comfortable for an Elf.” She replied dryly before she could help it. 

  
  


He had the dignity to look embarrassed at least, “yes, of course.”

Silence fell between them and she struggled to find a way to bridge it, ”I suppose it is the best we can do - Creators willing we will find someone who can stop Solas in his tracks.”

  
  


Cullen looked thoughtful, “you still call them Creators even after learning the truth?” He asked.

  
  


Athiya bristled, “I do not know that it is the truth - one source of information, one person telling me that everything I have ever known is wrong is not going to make me change my mind. For all I know he could have bought into his own fantasies. That certainly sounds like the man I knew.” Spinning around and scowling, she spoke to herself - quite viciously, “why did I even come here? You should just go, Commander - I will oversee the rest of this by myself.” 

  
  


Cullen’s gaze hardened, “Athiya you’re not well - you need someone to watch after you.”

  
  


“I am not a child, Commander. You think I don’t know that I am dying? I feel the anchor spreading inside me - it’s only a matter of time and I know that. It is eating everything I was, everything I am. No amount of pity or coddling will change any of this. But dammit, if I am to die then I shall be taking him with me.” Her voice was vicious and once she was done she did her best to compose herself. It was unprofessional, she shouldn’t have lashed out. Ever since her confrontation with Solas she’d been so angry at everything… “Just go. I will finish up here, you have your clinic to worry about.”

  
  


Mercifully he left. 

  
  


And Athiya was in a solitude of her own making.


	2. Oath of the Dales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to live vicariously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings:  
> Statutory Rape (implied), Abortion/abortifacients (implied), slavery (explicit), murder.
> 
> Sallustia being a victim of statutory rape is implied in this chapter, as is her being a victim of abuse by her slave master.

_**9:50 Dragon** _

  
Sallustia ran through the streets of Minrathous glancing behind her as the guards closed in - her eyes wide as she slid down an alleyway climbing nimbly over the wall into Magister Pavus’ gardens. Stupid girl! She shouldn’t have been caught, Aulus was going to be furious at her. At least she had gotten the papers - it would prove his place as an Altus and then he could claim his family’s locked down fortune and free her like he had promised. Right now as a middle income Laetan with a single slave there was no reason for him to free her… but she knew she’d be Liberati soon! Everything was looking up.

  
Kneeling over to pant heavily she heard the guards coming to a stop behind her, swallowing heavily she listened in on their conversation.

  
“Void take that Elf, stupid knife-ear ran straight into Lucerni territory.”

  
“The Magister won’t let us in, I know that much. Let’s head back - see if we can’t figure out where the bitch lives.”

  
They were gone. Oh thank the Maker, they were gone. Sliding down against the wall she clutched the papers to her chest and let out a small giggle of relief. 

  
“Now then, want to tell me what you’re doing in my gardens?” Spoke a man’s voice, his eyebrow raised as he smiled at Sallustia.

  
Sallustia swallowed heavily, “would you believe me if I told you I was a hallucination?” She squeaked.

  
“Hiding from the law then?”

  
“Oh never, Magister, that would be illegal.”

  
Magister Pavus laughed mirthfully and offered her a hand to help her up, “don’t worry, I won’t turn you in. Where are you headed then?”

  
“Aulus Cittinus’ home, I’m his...servant. Or… or I will be soon. He’s going to free me.”

  
Dorian’s expression became one of pity and Sallustia tensed in frustration, of course he wouldn’t believe her. But why would her master lie? She had never disobeyed, she had always done everything perfectly - it made sense to reward her! She had even gotten proof of his station, he could eventually join the Magisterium if he played his cards right! And she would have been the one to make that all possible.

  
“Of course, what’s your name?”

  
“Sallustia, Magister Pavus.”

  
“Well, Sallustia, it’s a pleasure to meet you. How do you take your tea?”

  
Sallustia blinked in disbelief, no she couldn’t stay for tea - least of all with a Magister! She had to deliver these papers… Aulus needed her help. But she was thirsty and it’d be dreadfully rude to deny him, “Um… a little sugar?”

  
“Splendid, I’ll see to it it’s made just so! I do hope you don’t mind that there will be a guest joining us. A dear friend has just arrived and I’m sure she’d be delighted to meet such a talented thief. It used to be her job as well.”

  
The Magister was friends with a thief? Or...former thief? With trepidation she followed Magister Pavus through to his pavillion where a servant waited… or she had to be a servant because she was an elf. Though she was sitting in a chair sipping what tea and reading over a report that had been laid in front of her with studious and sharp eyes. 

  
She glanced up and took in Sallustia who went rigid at the intense gaze - those eyes were piercing but bizarre, an unreal green that couldn’t have been natural… maybe she was a Mage? Aulus had mentioned that sometimes when magic manifested people’s appearances changed a bit. And the Elf did look so bizarre - beyond the eyes. She was dark like a Rivani human and had dark red hair, she had pale pinkish facial tattoos going down over her lips and throat, Sallustia couldn’t begin to imagine why. She was also missing an arm. What kind of servant lost an arm and was still kept on?

  
“Who have you brought me now, Dorian? Another of your pet projects? You know I don’t have time to field them - I have more important matters that require my attention.” And then she seemed to notice Sallustia was an elf and more importantly, Sallustia suspected, she noticed the collar around her throat, “ah.”

  
“Oh, you wound me. Sallustia is a guest - she’s here for tea.”

  
“I… really should get back to Master Cittinus…”

  
“Nonsense, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  
He wouldn’t of course, Sallustia could already feel the menacing glare and barbed words - maybe he’d bring out a whip. He did really need those papers, but to deny a Magister? “As you say, Magister.”

  
“Dorian,” the Elf stood with some difficulty, a grimace flashed across her round face - what was wrong with the woman? Now that Sallustia looked at her it was almost painfully obvious that she was sick, her veins occasionally pulsed a toxic green on one side of her body reaching up halfway on her neck; each time it happened the woman seemed to go blank. Used to concealing her pain? Sallustia knew a thing or two about that.

  
The man’s face wrinkled in worry and he went to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder - the servant couldn’t have been older than 30 and yet there was such age to her… like she’d lived thousands of lifetimes.

  
“Athiya, you can’t give up.” His voice was almost pleading

  
“I am not giving up, I just… what good will one little girl do against him? I am tired of hope, Dorian.” Her voice was somewhat broken, “why would you bring her?”

  
Sallustia shifted on her feet glancing at anything but the servant - Athiya - this was a very private conversation she should not have been privy to. What were they even talking about? “Magister Pavus, um…”

  
Dorian looked over at Sallustia and his worried expression fell back into one of delight, a facade she was coming to realize. “Oh you still haven’t had your tea. Sit with the Inquisitor, I’m sure she’d love to regale you with the tale of when she defeated Corypheus. Or slayed an Avvar God… and what was that thing you did with the Titan again? I wasn’t there for that one, thankfully.” 

  
Athiya looked at him sourly but sat down heavily again, “I was pretty impressive.” She granted him dryly, though it didn’t seem genuine. 

  
Sallustia looked at the Elf in disbelief, she had never heard of any of these things - “I…you’re an Inquisitor?”

  
“I was.”

  
“What’s that?”

  
Athiya gave Sallustia a measured look, “Nothing anymore.”

  
Not really the answer Sallustia was looking for, but she continued on - “Magister Pavus said your name was Athiya is that…”

  
“Elvhen? Yes.”

  
“What’s it mean?” 

  
Athiya’s lips actually quirked up into a small smile, “I do not know. My parents.. They found an ancient tablet and parsed the words out phonetically. It is similar enough for our word for ‘humility’ but for all I know it could mean latrine.”

  
“Our word?”

  
“You are one of the People, are you not?”

  
“Elves? I mean…” Sallustia reached up and touched the sharp tips of her ears self consciously, “I get called ‘knife ear’ enough so, I guess I must be.”

  
Athiya sighed at that, sympathy laced her voice - "You endure, we all endure and…” here she leaned forward her eyes exhausted but Sallustia saw a flicker of fire in them - a sign of a woman who had once been beyond powerful, “I am so sick of it.”

**~~~**

The slave girl, Sallustia, had made Athiya realize why Solas liked being asked questions - seeing the light of curiosity in someone’s eyes and the spark of desire for knowledge was immeasurably warming. Athiya felt like a person for the first time in years when Sallustia asked about her own forgotten culture.

  
Fen’Harel be damned, the Elves deserved the pieces they could pick up - they earned the right to forge their own way and create their own experiences. Nobody had the right to take that from them.

  
“Sallustia, right?”

  
“Y-yes, ma’am.”

  
“You are a thief?”

  
“Sometimes.” Sallustia said, glancing down at the papers in her lap, “when Master Cittinus tells me to be. I’m good at it, usually.”

  
Athiya smiled again, Sallustia was young - probably around 16 if she gauged correctly - and had already lost so much. She deserved to take pride in her skills, “the way you walk - it is absolutely silent. I imagine you’re better than you think.”

  
Sallustia’s eyes lit up, “you think so?”

  
“I used to be a rogue myself, you know.” She said dryly, “I can tell when someone knows the tricks of the trade. You are self taught but given time… you would be an excellent scout.”

  
Sallustia beamed, “are you offering me a job for when I’m Liberati?”

  
“I am offering you a job now.” Athiya clarified, “you are Elvhen - we look out for our own.” 

  
Faltering, Sallustia hesitated and inhaled - no. No that wasn’t right, she needed to finish this out. Once Master Cittinus freed her she could do what she wanted but now? “I should go,” she said quietly, “I’ve kept Master Cittinus waiting long enough. Thank you for…”

  
Athiya’s face was a mask of impassivity, but Sallustia could see the pity in it and despite herself rage built up inside her. “I’ll be free soon, you’ll see. He promised!” 

"Shemlen promise many things," The former Inquisitor said coolly, "they rarely uphold their ends of bargains."

  
Red with fury, Sallustia got up and ran from the pavilion, racing until her heart was on the verge of exploding - angry tears bit at her pale eyes. She’d be made Liberati soon - so soon she could taste it. Aulus promised! Then... then she could do whatever she wanted! Be anyone! Anything. Stumbling into the doorway of the Cittinus house, she breathed heavily and called out in a croak, “Master? I’ve brought the paper.” She kept her shoulders tucked in and moved into the house, the candles were all snuffed and she was covered in a shroud of darkness.

  
“Master?” Her voice was unsure as she walked through the entry hall, “I…”

  
“Sallustia.”

  
Flinching as the candles flicked to light in an unyieldingly magical brightness, she turned to look at Aulus. A young, handsome man - tall and slender, almost effeminate, he wasn’t as dark as other Tevene, his mother being a Free Marcher, but he held himself like any of them. 

  
And his pretty face was scowling. “You took your time.” 

  
Sallustia’s eyes flicked down to see him holding a whip. “I was almost caught, I had to hide for a while… I’m sorry. But they’re here, proof! Proof your ancestors were dreamers, one was even in the Magisterium!” With trembling hands, she offered him the papers, which he yanked from her to look over.

  
A cruel smile came over his face, “oh you’ve done very well, pet.” He dropped the whip and she relaxed slightly as he set the papers aside - drawing near he reached out and held her face in his hands, running his thumb across her lower lip, “my beautiful Sallustia. You always come through don’t you? So loyal…” Leaning closer he looked into her eyes. “I’m glad I’ll be keeping you.”

  
Her breath caught and shattered in her lungs, unable to breath she went very still. What? No she must have misunderstood! He had promised! “Master I… I don’t understand. I thought…” Her voice was choked, bile rose in her throat. 

  
“Thought what, my pretty little rabbit?” He kissed the corner of her mouth and she squeezed her eyes shut, “that you’d be made Liberati? My dear, why would you think that? You’re better as a slave, safe where I can protect you and care for you. Nobody will hire you, nobody will love you like I do. You’d die in a gutter a week after I freed you. You know that, but now…” he pulled away, stroking hair from her face, “now you’ll be the property of an Altus, perhaps even a Magister. You’ll live in luxury and,” his hands trailed down to hold her waist and her stomach rolled, “your duties will be far more fun than they have been. Let’s celebrate, just submit, I’ll even let you sleep in my bed tonight. Yes?”

  
Sallustia’s vision blurred... were they tears or was she just disoriented? She couldn't tell, not for a long while but as the ringing in her ears died down she began to think about it, he was right. Of course he was right… why would anyone hold an Elf _, a filthy knife-ear,_ in any esteem? She should let him take her to his bed, drink the moon tea afterwards, find a way to live with it. She could endure, survive like that.

  
“No.” Her voice was hard and she shoved him away from herself, looking up at him her pale eyes darkened with fury balling her fists she snarled at him and lightning crackled around her. She felt energy pouring into her and she had never felt more alive.

  
Aulus recognized immediately it was her awakening as a Mage and stumbled back, rearing up and readying a dispellation only to find himself with a lightning bolt in the chest knocking him into a wall.

“NO!" Sallustia cried out in anguish, in rage, "I am so _tired_ of enduring and submitting!” She threw her arms wide as crackling golden energy surrounded her, her eyes flew open as she wrenched power through the Veil, it coiled around her in shining arcs - strengthening her arms and revitalizing her spirit.

  
He groaned from where he was thrown and raised his head to look at her, he reached for his staff but she was picking it up first, staring down at him like a Goddess of Vengeance. “Never again.” And she brought the blunt end of the staff down against his skull, feeling it hit a dead end against the floor on the other side of his head. The magic energy coursing out through the household and blowing off of her like waves. 

  
When she cut her connection to the Fade she collapsed to her knees and trembled, for once feeling proud of herself. For once feeling powerful.

  
She was liberated.

**~~~**

Maker what had she done?! As the euphoria faded and she was left with the realization that she had killed her master the terror began to set in. Sallustia stared at the corpse of Aulus with horror, she would be killed for this! Her golden eyes faded back to their pale gray and she ran her fingers through her short brown hair letting out a shuddering breath.

  
  


“Calm down, Sallustia.” she whispered nervously, glancing around. She could work with this - she could… what could she do? 

  
  


The Lucerni! Perhaps they would take her in? She had skills, of an unpracticed sort but she did have them. Rising shakily to her feet she went around and tried her best to make it look like a robbery gone wrong, knocking things over - throwing heirlooms onto the floor, and it did give her a measure of glee to see his precious family line destroyed.

  
  


And then she grabbed a cloak of worn black cloth, pulled the hood over her head and fled the house - running back towards Magister Pavus’ estate. 

  
  


She wouldn’t make it that night.

  
  


There was the sound of fighting down an alley, grunts of pain and what looked like Magic - oh no. She slowed to a walk, making her footsteps as quiet as she could - slinking to the edge of the building she glanced around the corner and saw an elf with markings on his face - like Athiya’s but… different, she couldn’t quite make out the pattern but they were intricate - ducking under a fireball. He was holding something circular in his hands, “I won’t let that _asshole_ have this if it’s the last thing I do!” He snarled spinning away from a glyph appearing on the ground. 

  
  


His movements were practiced, elegant even - he clearly had experience fighting Mages. 

  
  


“Samrian,” called one of the attackers - also an Elf, channeling some kind of swirling darkness in her hand, she spoke in a language Sallustia didn't understand and the Elf man responded with intensity.

“Death first.” And he rose the orb in his hand and it began to pulse with some sort of pale violet energy - the man’s eyes went vacant and the woman shrieked his name and rushed him. 

There was a blast of energy from the alley - Sallustia flinched as the full force of the blast hit her, she felt like all the energy of the Fade was pouring into her all at once. It sought her out like a beacon, she stumbled backwards with a gurgling gasp and collapsed to one knee, clutching at her heart. 

  
  


Her veins had the same sickly purple going up her arms and branching out through her body - she was dying. She felt her heart wanting to stop, only her will kept it beating. Her head fell back and tears streamed down her face, her eyes brightening into the violet. 

  
  


The power was demanding her life, it was far too much for her.

  
  


“I… will not submit!” She hissed through clenched teeth, agony ripping her apart, her body fell apart at the seams but she reknit herself utilizing the same power that threatened her, that wanted her death. 

  
  


And then the pain stopped. And she could breathe again, falling onto her hands she breathed hard and ragged - the violet faded into her until her brown skin was not pulsating with light. She could feel the power of death coursing through her… but it wasn’t evil or dark, not a punishment. 

  
  


It was… kind. It wanted to guide, it had wanted to guide her to comfort but now? Now it would show her a different path, lifting her head she looked up at a stunned Elf, Samrian she recalled… he looked quite exhausted and was using the wall of the alley to stay standing. “How did you do that?” He asked incredulously.

  
  


Sallustia had no answer for him, shaking her head furiously. 

  
  


He glanced behind him, the woman who had attacked him was unconscious - he closed his eyes looking pained, she didn’t think it was from his wounds. “We need to get out of here.”

  
  


“Pavus.” She croaked.

  
  


“No, the Inquisitor is there. He’s constantly watching her - we can’t go to them for help.”

  
  


He? What did that mean? “Then where?”

  
  


He scratched his head, and shrugged - “Kirkwall?”

She supposed it was as good a place as any. 

Samrian led Sallustia through the alleyways of Minrathous until they made it to the outskirts, they had managed to evade their pursuers thus far but both of them were hardly in the shape for another fight.

  
  


He was bleeding from his shoulder, and his pale skin was looking far whiter than it should have. “Are you okay?” She asked, they couldn’t keep this pace up as battered as they were. She still had the hum of energy inside her, and perhaps it was the only thing keeping her going but it seemed to want to burst out.

  
  


“No, I’m bleeding a lot. But you’re a Mage right? When we stop for the night you can heal it.” He glanced back at her, she had to be a Mage - to have absorbed the foci’s power like that. A powerful one at that. 

  
  


“Right, Mage, totally.” She muttered, if he knew she had only just awakened to her powers would he abandon her? He clearly thought she was something more than she was, and she was too afraid to correct him.

  
  


If he hadn’t been suffering from blood loss, he probably would have caught onto that - but at that moment he just wanted to get out of there and find some place to rest and recuperate and perhaps this woman would be the key to defeating Fen’Harel, he hoped so - because that man had to be stopped. Samrian had been drawn in by Fen’Harel’s promises at first his entire clan had; the world of the Elves, their people restored to what they had once been. Elvhenan reborn! 

  
  


But those words were exact, and Fen’Harel didn’t consider them true Elves. The “real” Elves were the ones who had been gone for thousands of years - the Elves that lived now, Dalish or City, they didn’t matter to him… not really. They were playing pretend, he found them deplorable - some were exceptions to his rule that they were arrogant and foolish. Some were worthy, but none were worthy enough. 

  
  


When Samrian had learned the truth, he had taken the one foci Fen’Harel had managed to find and fled north - he had meant to get it to the Inquisitor so she could destroy it like she had destroyed Fen’Harel’s… but he had learned that the woman was in no shape to do such a thing, and it had almost broken him. Something had to be done about it. So he was on his way out of Minrathous when Elovera had caught up with him - he had his suspicions on how she had done that. The battle was rough on him, with Elovera’s powerful entropy spells it took all his strength and training to avoid dying. 

  
  


He was lucky that the other Mage showed up when she had. He hadn’t even asked her name, he realized. Well, introductions could come later. What mattered now was getting as far away from the Inquisitor as possible. 

  
  


Slowing to a walk he pulled them around into the shadows of the Juggernauts, there were guards posted at the exits. Glancing at the Mage he realized she had a collar around her neck, and he was Dalish.

  
  


No way they were just walking out of there. Gnawing on his lip he glanced at the Mage, “I can get us out of here but you can’t scream.” He told her, his voice solemn. He didn’t give a damn about killing shemlen but who knew how queasy this girl’s stomach was. She was a slave, she probably couldn’t even fathom a show of rebellion. He was sure the only reason she was coming with with him was because she was in shock.

  
  


“Promise me, Mage.”

  
  


“I promise.” She squeaked out. 

  
  


“Good.” He drew his blades and his eyes flashed dangerously and he was on the guards before they knew what happened - dispatching the first one quickly by running his sword through the man’s sternum he looked at the other with deadly eyes and leapt over the dying man to attack. The guard raised his sword in defense, but Samrian was quicker and more nimble than the human - sliding away from the blade’s arc he swept his leg out bringing the man down easily. “Na din'an sahlin.” He spoke, his words venomous. 

  
  


He stabbed his sword into the man’s heart and twisted, keeping eye contact before standing up and looking over at Sallustia - jerking his head, “quickly, Mage.” He did look worse for wear despite how easily he had dispatched the men.

  
  


How was he still standing? Let alone fighting? She couldn’t believe her eyes, shaking off the wonder she ran after him and they left Minrathous.

The Mage looked ragged, her hair was wild as briars and her face near feral in its clear terror. Not only that she looked utterly exhausted, they kept off the roads - of course - traveling closer to the High Reaches rather than the more even ground of the coast.

Wiser to avoid any potential skirmishes, and he was skilled at fighting in difficult terrain - looking up at the dark sky he sighed, he was running his own bones too hard. Samrian turned to his traveling companion, as he rested against a tree - his dark eyes met hers once she looked up from her hard breathing. Clearly not used to traipsing through the mountains, not that it surprised him.

“We should get that collar off you, first.” He said and drew a dagger - in truth he was more of a warrior, despite how nimble he was on his feet and his use of tricks during a fight. But it never hurt to broaden your skills, and she would be more of a target with a slave collar on her.

A runaway slave was worse than a potential one, he idly wondered where her brand was as he approached - she flinched slightly so he slowed, and said in a soft voice, “I won’t hurt you, da’len.”

His eyes softened and he lowered himself to her level - he was a fair bit taller than her, she barely came to his shoulders, “I promise, I won’t ever hurt you. You’ve been hurt enough.”

“Who were you fighting?” She whispered, “did you promise never to hurt her too?”

That was a fair concern, he supposed, “they….” he hesitated, “her name was Elovera. She was my Clanmate, former Clanmate. She would watch this world burn and all of us with it for fanatical belief in a-” he was getting heated so he closed his eyes and sighed, “yes, I had promised her. But I wasn’t out for her blood, Mage, and I’m not out for yours.”

She believed him, maybe it was naivete - it probably was - but he seemed so genuine about it all. “Okay.” She said softly and looked away as he put the knife to her throat and cut through the leather collar around her neck.

When it fell away she felt naked and odd, but it was like an invisible weight had been lifted off of her and she inhaled deeply, touching the place where the collar had been with a ginger brush.

“Good, now… healing would be nice, Mage, if you’re so inclined.”

“I… uh.”

“You don’t know how to heal.” He deadpanned.

“I don’t know how to use Magic.” She corrected in a mumble.

“You’re not a Mage?” He furrowed his brow, even a Mage-slave was taught the basics to keep them from becoming abominations. But… if she wasn’t a Mage how had she absorbed all that energy from Falon’Din’s foci?

Sallustia shifted awkwardly, “no, I am a Mage. I just, uh, sort of just found out?”

Just his luck. An untrained Mage! He had, apparently, put too much stock in her. Idiot. But, still, better her be with him than withering away as a slave in Minrathous. “Right, well, there’s a few Mages in Kirkwall… they can teach you what they know, to keep you from killing us. Do you know what you… what you did with the Orb? What you took into yourself?”

He reached into his pack and took it out, it was gray and held none of the power it had held before she showed up.

“Death.” She whispered, looking down at her hands, “I took in Death.”

Well, that was a delightful way to put it and she wasn’t exactly wrong - “I’ll do my best to explain,” he put the foci back into his pack, and bit his lower lip.

“So…” Mythal’enaste, how was he going to explain any of this to her, “There was a God named Falon’Din - that Orb I showed you, it channeled and focused his energies. He was the God of Death, he led our ancestors into the Beyond - the Fade - when they’re time came. You took that power into yourself and survived.”

She blinked at him.

Yeah, he would have done the same. It sounded insane.

He pinched the bridge of his nose - and she looked at his face more closely. He was handsome, fine features but angular all the same. He had… very intricate leafless tree-like tattoos all across his forehead and below his eyes, there was a design along his lips. He was very pale so the stark blackness of the tattoos stood out. “Falon’Din.” She repeated, letting the name linger on her lips. The energy in her fluttered in recognition.

That sounded right.

“I can sew.” She said suddenly, looking at his shoulder - it had stopped bleeding but it still needed work.

He looked at her and chuckled, his lips quirking into a small smile, “I’ve got some needle and thread.” He carefully pulled off his tunic, though there was a grunt of pain as he did.

His musculature was lean, the lines of him strong and powerful - but sinewy. And covered in scars. He must have seen many battles. She approached him and looked at the wound, he knelt and looked through his pack, handing her a needle and some thread - not quite as fine as she was used to working with, it must have been made out of hide. She threaded it and then said, “anything to wash the wound?”

He handed her a waterskin and some elfroot. “That’ll work.” She said softly, she had often treated her own wounds the same way - learning herbal medicine had been a lifesaver when Aulus got happy with his whip. She washed out the cut - it was long and straight, made from some sort of knife - deep but not too deep. Sewing it up and then pressing the chewed elfroot onto it, “that should help.” She said, hoping he wouldn’t develop an infection.

“Thanks, Mage. Not exactly a healing spell but I’ll take what I can get. Your suturing was better than anything I could have done.” He smiled at her, though his face was very strained. She doubted she looked much better.

“Sallustia.”

“Your name, I take it?”

“Yes.”

“How do you feel about Sal? It means ‘soul’ in Elvhen.”

She smiled slightly - remembering Athiya’s words, “so long as it doesn’t mean latrine.”


	3. Friend to the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I return.

Sal was sleeping, resting her head against his shoulder - he was exhausted himself, but the Mage had clearly used too much energy, and absorbing that foci's power? It wasn't exactly effortless, he was sure. He'd heard that Inquisitor Athiya wasn't a Mage... but then again - the Foci she had absorbed had been partially unlocked… the one Sal took had been completely dormant. He had no idea what to make of all this. 

He glanced down at Sal - she was young, younger than him by several years at least. Small, mousy. Poor thing had been through so much, he pitied her. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, running through the logistics of traveling to Kirkwall. Taking the main roads through Tevinter wasn’t safe - especially with an escaped slave. They’d have to stick to the High Reaches… 

He knew a Warden at Weisshaupt, they weren’t _supposed_ to help but Valya owed him a favor and if now wasn’t the time to collect… Valya could organize transport to Kirkwall, she was a Griffon rider after all - that held some sway in their organization, he figured at least.

Besides, they came from the same stock. 

Samrian inhaled deeply and leaned back against the tree. He needed sleep too, there was no way he could keep going like he had been… “Sal,” he whispered, brushing hair away from her strained face, “I’m sorry but you need to wake up.”

She grumbled in disagreement but slowly woke up, her pale eyes met his and she drew in a sharp breath of surprise, he smiled hoping to ease her tension, “I need to sleep, Sal. I’m sorry, I’m just not in much shape to keep watch.”

“Oh.” She nodded and rubbed her eyes to rid them of sleep, “okay.”

As he settled down he offered her one of his swords, “just in case.” 

She took it and he watched as she appraised it, she held it like it was a large dagger - well at least she wasn’t holding it by the blade. “We’re going to head to Weisshaupt Fortress, I have a friend there - she can get us transport to Kirkwall.”

“But Weisshaupt is in the middle of a desert.”

“It’s the safest place for an Elf this far north, we’ll discuss it when I wake up.”

Sal nodded solemnly and looked away from him, he softened slightly - “Sal,” he whispered, reaching out to gently touch her shoulder, “I’m sorry to be curt, I’m just… exhausted. It’s been a long month. When I wake up, I promise we’ll talk about our options.”

She turned back to look at him and nodded, “Okay. Rest up.”

~~~

The murder of the Laetan, Aulus Cittinus, took Minranthous by surprise - and the fact that his knife ear slave was implicated even more so. Everyone who spoke of the pair mentioned how obedient, servile and docile the slave had been.

Athiya barely hid the smug smile that came over her face when she heard that Sallustia had managed to escape Minrathous unharmed… murdering two guards when crossing the bridge was no small feat. 

“You’re beaming.” Dorian accused, “it’s bizarre.”

“She killed him.” 

“Allegedly.” 

“Allegedly, she drove his own staff through his head - Creators what I would give to have seen the look on his face.” Athiya let loose a small laugh, “I can almost picture it, it must have been so sweet.”

Dorian watched his friend as he took a sip of his tea, “she’ll be killed for this if we don’t find her first.” He pointed out with concern in his voice - “you liked her, quite a bit…. I’d like to see her head remain attached to her body.”

That sobered Athiya and she nodded, contemplatively, “She has left Minrathous, of course.” 

“The two dead guards at the bridge suggest that, yes.”

“And the scorched alleyway, her doing? Magic gone wild, I imagine, perhaps she awakened as a Mage.”

Dorian hesitated and Athiya’s eyes met his, “we’re not sure.” He confessed, “we think… It was almost like the explosion at the Conclave, Athiya. Maevaris thinks it may have been Solas.”

That quieted the Elf even further, and her eyes darkened - she looked away and calmed her nerves, “I saw the alley, it doesn not have his flair. What makes Magister Tilani think he did this?”

“The power that would have been needed to liquify that wall. No normal Mage could do that, not without being hopped up on Lyrium. Solas, though.”

“The corpse was practically mummified, not turned to stone…. And she was Dalish, he would not kill one of our People so readily.” 

“It’s just a theory, Athiya.”

“It was not him.” Athiya insisted, a slight edge to her voice stern, allowing no further argument.

Dorian shrugged, she knew the man best - they’d have to look into other people with that level of magical power. It was a small list. Either way someone that powerful on the loose wasn’t exactly good news.

Athiya rose to her feet, swaying slightly as she did but steadying herself - Dorian watched her as she moved to a map of northern Thedas, “we should find her Clan, her corpse should be given back to them with the proper honors. It’s possible she’s an Alerion, they roam Nevarra. I’ll reach out... ”

Dorian smiled, it was a bit of a relief to see her take an active interest in anything. He was so sure she’d spend the next several months bedridden until the Anchor finally reached her heart and killed her. 

“Glad to have you back, Inquisitor.”

~~~

Reaching within herself and connecting to Falon’Din was interesting, it was she had to synchronize two heartbeats and four lungs…. And even then she wasn’t sure that they were really, truly linked. 

It wasn’t as if she could hear his thoughts, he didn’t have a personality…. He didn’t speak in any language she’d ever heard, not even the strange one from the alley. He communicated by making her feel things, suggestions of what had been.

She felt… he had a great companion, a brother, a reflection. One who he’d been separated from for too long. The loss, the pain, the longing were the greatest emotions… the anger was distant, almost gone. Falon’Din had come to accept what had been done to him, he regretted only he could not spare the others the same fate. 

The Elvhen were meant for more than what they were, but what they were now was resilient and strong…. It was worthy of respect, not pity. 

She had never felt respected before, it was odd. “Where are you?” She whispered, “can we free you?”

The answer was vague, someplace far away… not on Thedas, not even in the Fade. Beyond that. The Void? She didn’t understand but she knew he could be freed, but that he didn’t want to.

“Why?”

Cataclysm, fiery destruction. She saw trees aflame, cities crumbling, creatures running and shifting and bones cracking as they warped into new things, different things… old things. The resurrection of the old world was not worth the destruction of the new one, of her and her people. 

Fear ate away at her, Falon’Din seemed insistent on keeping himself and the others as far from revived as possible. 

She heard a voice in her, distant - an echo of a memory, _“Sulevin in din’an, da’len, ghilas Din'anshiral… Mir melava nadas. Banal revas…. Bellanaris.”_

Whatever that meant. It felt like it was the last Falon’Din would speak on the matter however, and the ancient connection within her grew silent. The words felt familiar, but she wasn’t sure her tongue could make the sounds. 

Turning to look at the sleeping man next to her she reached out and traced the tattoos on his face - feather light as to avoid waking him, they reminded her of stories her mother told her, of something called a vhenadahl…. She wondered if he was from Denerim like her mother had been.

Where was Denerim, anyway? It was somewhere south, very south - but

Samrian’s eyes opened and she yelped and jumped away, “sorry!”

He chuckled and slowly sat up, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes - he cocked his head and looked at her, “interested in the vallaslin?” He said softly.

“No! I mean, yes, but… not like you think. My mom told me about a tree from when she was little.” 

“Vhenadahl. The Tree of the People.” He said with a nod, “your mother is from an Alienage?”

“I guess, I don’t know. I haven’t seen her…. For a while.”

He sympathized, and would have voiced as such if she hadn’t hunched in on herself and pulled her knees to her chest. Defensive posture, he wouldn’t push. Instead he asked for his sword back.

She immediately moved to grab it from where she’d set it down and hand it back to him, “it’s beautiful,” she complimented, “heavy, though.”

The sword was elegant, slightly curved and made out of Nevarrite - the hilt was wrapped in Halla leather and it had no crossguard, the pommel was simple - not particularly decorative or elegant, just a black stone of some kind. The blade matched the other sword on his hip - clearly paired, he had fought with them so efficiently back in Minrathous and they were well maintained.

  
  


“You’re used to daggers, Sal, this is a normally weighted sword.” He said with a chuckle as he sheathed it and got to his feet. “We ought to get going, we need to get further away from Minrathous.”

“Weisshaupt, you said.” Sal said softly, “will someone there be able to teach me to control Magic?”

“That’s… not a bad idea. You could be safe there. Stay there, the Wardens treat Elves well.”

“But there’s a reason you want to go to Kirkwall.”

“The Champion is a Mage, a powerful one - her husband is a former slave, I was hoping she’d be friendly to some fugitive Elves.” 

After a moment he handed her a set of daggers he kept at his ribs, “they’re Dalish made,” he told her with a smile, “they’re meant for our People - I think you’ll get more use out of them than I will.”

She took them and strapped them onto her body and unsheathed them, they were slightly heavier than she was used to - weighted for a grown man, of course. But she could adjust to it. “Thank you, Samrian.” she said softly, returning them to their sheathes.

She felt there was more to his wanting to go to Kirkwall, but… he didn’t seem ready to trust her yet. Perhaps the daggers were a test. One she was determined to pass. 

“You know a Grey Warden?”

“Yeah, her name is Valya - she’s a Griffon rider, she found the clutch actually. Nice girl.” He said idly and led her up the hills towards the High Reaches, “She and Caronel helped me when I was in a bind a few years ago, I’d be dead or a ghoul if it weren’t for the two of them. My whole Clan would.” 

“Where is your Clan?”

“Gone.” He replied after a moment, his voice quiet and sad - she had an itch on her palms that told her he wasn’t telling her the whole truth. 

“Elovera was in your Clan.” She pointed out, “you said so.”

Samrian sighed, “I’ve been, uh, banished - to put it mildly. Clan Varlathlas… they’re being deceived and I couldn’t convince them to see it.” His voice ached.

Falon’Din stirred at the mention of deceit, and she inhaled deeply - the feeling, the loneliness that Samrian felt was mirrored by Falon’Din. It was familiar. “I’m sorry.”

Looking down at her, Samrian shook his head and said softly - “It’s nothing, da’len, don’t mind it. I’ve made my choice, they’ve made theirs. Now I live with my decisions.”

“You seem so sure of yourself.”

“I don’t have the luxury of self doubt, Sal.”

“Do any of us?”

"No, I suppose not." He conceded, "so tell me, Sal, you have a God in your head. What's it like?"

Sal wondered that herself - she didn't feel any different, Falon'Din was a quiet roommate. "He isn't really there, not really. I feel him, but it's distant. Like he's a thousand worlds away. He's kind, though, he wants to help. He's sorry he almost killed me, and... he's sorry he killed Elovera. He didn't mean to. He said he can fix it."

"Fix it?" Samrian sounded bewildered, "necromancy?"

"No - um... not really. We can give her back to the Living. Like she'd be waking from a deep sleep."

"Uthenera?"

Falon'Din fluttered inside her, it was as close a comparison as he could make - he was from before Death was permanent, and he could reverse it if she wanted. He would give her the power to do so. "Something like that."

Samrian looked thoughtful for a moment, "best to let the dead rest." He said softly, sounding like he hated himself for the decision, "if she lived again she'd only hunt us down - and I wouldn't have you fight a mage like her. No matter how many Gods you-" he stopped in his tracks and inhaled sharply. Could she hold more Gods inside herself? He looked down at her - it would be cruel, forcing a girl like her to hold onto the burden of the Foci. But she had survived Falon'Din.... she might be able to survive the others, and that would mean Fen'Harel would be without them, without the means to tear down the Veil. 

Did he have the right to make that decision for her? Of course he didn't, but... she was young, naive. The fate of the world mattered more than one wayward slave, Creators forgive him that it did. 

"We'll find you a teacher at Weisshaupt," he said quickly, "get you trained in the basics, at least. Maybe teach you a healing spell." He smiled at her, feeling shame deep in his gut.

"Oh, yes, that'd be a good idea." She said watching him curiously. What an odd fellow.

**Author's Note:**

> This should be fun! My tumblr is iamnotanotter and my allpoetry account is Shades of Pale! I welcome any constructive criticism and am looking for a beta. I'm really new to writing fanfic - but I hope my story ends up decent. Thanks for the read.


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